Last Modified: Saturday, December 29, 2012 at 6:18 p.m.

God, I love Bessie Smith — so much so, that I was playing her record of “Send Me to the ’Lectric Chair” on Christmas Eve.

Of course, it wasn’t hard for me to ignore Perry Como, Jack Jones and Brenda “Rocking Around the Christ-a-mus Tree” Lee. I pretty much listen the other way when they pop up all over the radio during the holiday season.

But usually there’s something about my personal holiday playlist that puts me in the spirit of the season, be it Charlie Parker’s “White Christmas,” Charles Brown’s “Please Come Home for Christmas” or that lovely recording by Dudley Laufman and the Canterbury Country Dance Orchestra, “Mistwold.” (I don’t think the composer of that last piece had the season in mind — it refers to a rural farm — but it certainly sounds holiday-ish.)

This year, however, I wasn’t much in the holiday mood. The congressional lawmakers were making the stock market go down and taxes rise because of the fiscal cliff impasse. Some idiot with a gun killed 20 children and six adults in Connecticut. Another idiot with a gun had set a fire in New York and killed two responders. There were gun murders in Birmingham.

A spokesman for the NRA said the solution to the firearms violence is simple: more guns.

Bah, humbug! John Boehner may not be worth killing, but as for the rest, send ’em to the ’lectric chair.

That’s my violent solution to violence in America.

Plus, the weather was hot. Or at least alternating hot and cold. It didn’t feel like Christmas.

But I think that the real reason I wasn’t in the spirit was because we didn’t have a Christmas tree in our house.

There are a number of reasons why we didn’t, including a contractor’s worthless promises. There simply wasn’t room in our home to erect a proper tree this year.

In truth, my wife and I have had a running discussion for years about Christmas trees. I prefer real ones. I know all the arguments against them — they’re environmentally negative (meaning you have to cut them down and kill them before you put them up in your house and disposing of them later is a headache), they shed, they’re a fire hazard, they’re outrageously expensive, blah blah blah.

Plus, there was a lot of trouble in town with trees this Christmas. I personally saw three instances in which they fell off a car’s top, where they’d been tied on to take home. Add road hazard to the list of arguments.

All of them may be true. But to me, a real tree just smells like Christmas.

Of course, we now have an artificial tree. That’s the way discussions go on our house.

But this year, we didn’t put it up. And instead of the Mormon Tabernacle Choir, I was playing Bessie Smith recordings on Christmas Eve. You’d think that the Grinch had come to live with us.

Still, we got invited to holiday parties. At one party, a couple of nights before Christmas, my wife had an accident and messed up her foot.

She had a lot of cooking to do, but she was hobbling around on Christmas Eve, so I volunteered to go to the grocery store with the shopping list.

Oh, send me to the ’lectric chair.

I usually tag along on grocery trips, but buying foodstuff solo isn’t my bag. This Christmas Eve, I was working from a list that had me shuffling from the dairy case to the soup aisle to the vegetable bins.

The grocery store was crowded, too. Everybody in town seemed to be there for a little last-minute shopping. The store had run out of some items. I’d started snatching what I could find.

Finding stuff was a problem. Everything had to be a certain size and a certain brand.

Where in the heck do they keep the frozen pie crusts? Why don’t they sell the green onions with the yellow, purple and sweet ones? What’s the difference between heavy cream and heavy whipping cream?

Plus, somebody stole my cart. I don’t think he meant to, but the store was so crowded.

I hunted all over for it — finding the grocery items I’d managed to run down had taken me too long to start again — and I finally located it, abandoned, halfway across the store.

Needless to say, I was not filled with the Christmas spirit in the checkout line.

Then an idea struck me — a wonderful, terrible idea. I’d find an artificial miniature tree and we’d use that. And I’d get it dirt cheap from one of the super-discount stores.

I found exactly what I was hunting for — a little thing with foam-rubber panels and decals of lights and balls that sold for 25 cents.

Perfect.

But what I saw in the store broke my heart.

A couple was picking through a big bin of red ribbons, looking for something that wasn’t crushed. A woman on the other side of the store was flipping through Christmas cards. Christmas cards. It seemed a little late, but maybe for next year?

Down another aisle, a man held a plastic fire truck; the ladder wasn’t broken too bad, he told his companion.

Suddenly, not having a real tree didn’t seem so bad.

And that’s when I finally got the Christmas spirit.

I drove home with the groceries, put the 25-cent tree on the fireplace and rooted out the “Mistwold” recording.

I put it on, put a smile on my face and the Bessie Smith recording went back on the shelf — at least, until after Christmas.

Joy to the world.

Ben Windham is retired editorial editor of The Tuscaloosa News. His email address is Swind15443@aol.com.

<p>I cut him with my Barlow</p><p>I kicked him in the side</p><p>I stood here laughing o'r him</p><p>While he wallowed around and died ...</p><p>— Bessie Smith recording, “Send Me to the 'Lectric Chair,” 1927</p><p>God, I love Bessie Smith — so much so, that I was playing her record of “Send Me to the 'Lectric Chair” on Christmas Eve.</p><p>Of course, it wasn't hard for me to ignore Perry Como, Jack Jones and Brenda “Rocking Around the Christ-a-mus Tree” Lee. I pretty much listen the other way when they pop up all over the radio during the holiday season.</p><p>But usually there's something about my personal holiday playlist that puts me in the spirit of the season, be it Charlie Parker's “White Christmas,” Charles Brown's “Please Come Home for Christmas” or that lovely recording by Dudley Laufman and the Canterbury Country Dance Orchestra, “Mistwold.” (I don't think the composer of that last piece had the season in mind — it refers to a rural farm — but it certainly sounds holiday-ish.)</p><p>This year, however, I wasn't much in the holiday mood. The congressional lawmakers were making the stock market go down and taxes rise because of the fiscal cliff impasse. Some idiot with a gun killed 20 children and six adults in Connecticut. Another idiot with a gun had set a fire in New York and killed two responders. There were gun murders in Birmingham. </p><p>A spokesman for the NRA said the solution to the firearms violence is simple: more guns.</p><p>Bah, humbug! John Boehner may not be worth killing, but as for the rest, send 'em to the 'lectric chair. </p><p>That's my violent solution to violence in America.</p><p>Plus, the weather was hot. Or at least alternating hot and cold. It didn't feel like Christmas.</p><p>But I think that the real reason I wasn't in the spirit was because we didn't have a Christmas tree in our house.</p><p>There are a number of reasons why we didn't, including a contractor's worthless promises. There simply wasn't room in our home to erect a proper tree this year.</p><p>In truth, my wife and I have had a running discussion for years about Christmas trees. I prefer real ones. I know all the arguments against them — they're environmentally negative (meaning you have to cut them down and kill them before you put them up in your house and disposing of them later is a headache), they shed, they're a fire hazard, they're outrageously expensive, blah blah blah.</p><p>Plus, there was a lot of trouble in town with trees this Christmas. I personally saw three instances in which they fell off a car's top, where they'd been tied on to take home. Add road hazard to the list of arguments. </p><p>All of them may be true. But to me, a real tree just smells like Christmas.</p><p>Of course, we now have an artificial tree. That's the way discussions go on our house. </p><p>But this year, we didn't put it up. And instead of the Mormon Tabernacle Choir, I was playing Bessie Smith recordings on Christmas Eve. You'd think that the Grinch had come to live with us.</p><p>Still, we got invited to holiday parties. At one party, a couple of nights before Christmas, my wife had an accident and messed up her foot.</p><p>She had a lot of cooking to do, but she was hobbling around on Christmas Eve, so I volunteered to go to the grocery store with the shopping list.</p><p>Oh, send me to the 'lectric chair. </p><p>I usually tag along on grocery trips, but buying foodstuff solo isn't my bag. This Christmas Eve, I was working from a list that had me shuffling from the dairy case to the soup aisle to the vegetable bins.</p><p>The grocery store was crowded, too. Everybody in town seemed to be there for a little last-minute shopping. The store had run out of some items. I'd started snatching what I could find.</p><p>Finding stuff was a problem. Everything had to be a certain size and a certain brand.</p><p>Where in the heck do they keep the frozen pie crusts? Why don't they sell the green onions with the yellow, purple and sweet ones? What's the difference between heavy cream and heavy whipping cream? </p><p>Plus, somebody stole my cart. I don't think he meant to, but the store was so crowded. </p><p>I hunted all over for it — finding the grocery items I'd managed to run down had taken me too long to start again — and I finally located it, abandoned, halfway across the store.</p><p>Needless to say, I was not filled with the Christmas spirit in the checkout line.</p><p>Then an idea struck me — a wonderful, terrible idea. I'd find an artificial miniature tree and we'd use that. And I'd get it dirt cheap from one of the super-discount stores.</p><p>I found exactly what I was hunting for — a little thing with foam-rubber panels and decals of lights and balls that sold for 25 cents. </p><p>Perfect.</p><p>But what I saw in the store broke my heart.</p><p>A couple was picking through a big bin of red ribbons, looking for something that wasn't crushed. A woman on the other side of the store was flipping through Christmas cards. Christmas cards. It seemed a little late, but maybe for next year?</p><p>Down another aisle, a man held a plastic fire truck; the ladder wasn't broken too bad, he told his companion. </p><p>Suddenly, not having a real tree didn't seem so bad. </p><p>And that's when I finally got the Christmas spirit.</p><p>I drove home with the groceries, put the 25-cent tree on the fireplace and rooted out the “Mistwold” recording. </p><p>I put it on, put a smile on my face and the Bessie Smith recording went back on the shelf — at least, until after Christmas.</p><p>Joy to the world.</p><p>Ben Windham is retired editorial editor of The Tuscaloosa News. His email address is Swind15443@aol.com.</p>